


The Way Home

by orphan_account



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, So scandalous, and mild cxddling, it kind of says fuck a lot, warning: contains hxnd hxlding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-18 02:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17572574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An unexpected storm leaves Café Satan employees Brownie and B-52 stranded on the far side of the mountains bordering Tierra. With no means of contacting society, the duo will have no choice but to brave the elements and the unknown in order to find their way home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the formatting is weird! I'm operating from an iPhone and the text editor is very much not designed to be used on this device. Please let me know if it's **_really_** bad!

"I've got another job for you," Coffee said, removing his round, dark-tinted glasses to wipe away with his blue scarf a fingerprint or gathering of dust or some other mark they had acquired throughout the day. "I'm sure you both remember Mr. Fitzgerald?"  
  
Seated across from the restaurant owner in one of the café's booths, Brownie could hear right next to him B-52's engine whirring with excitement at the idea of working once again with the engineer from Nevras.  
  
"Of course, sir," Brownie said. Almost a year ago, he and B-52 had been sent to Nevras to aid in the construction of an airship, designed and overseen by one Daniel Fitzgerald, a lovely man somewhere in his 50s.  
  
Coffee returned his glasses to his face, appearing satisfied, though whether from his employee's response or from his adequately cleaned lenses Brownie could not tell. It may have been both, or something else entirely. Or perhaps Coffee was not really satisfied, and it was merely a mask, as if he were speaking to a customer angry about an incorrect order, who had asked for ice on the _bottom_ of his drink and failed to understand that ice, being less dense than a macchiato, would of course float to the _top_ , and would subsequently march up to the counter and demand a new one be made with the ice in the correct place, despite the polite insistence of the barista that nothing short of an act of God would make the ice stay on the bottom of the drink.  
  
A light nudge on his shoulder brought Brownie back to reality.  
  
"Ah, I'm sorry," he said, still slightly out of focus. He wasn't usually like this, but he was still frustrated from his encounter with that exact customer earlier in the day and the lengths of his recent shifts in the understaffed Café Satan had left him thoroughly exhausted. "What were you saying?"  
  
"He's having some trouble with the ship you built him last year. Like the last time you went, Mr. Fitzgerald has already purchased two tickets for tonight's 11:30 ship to the Academy," Coffee repeated. "He'll provide housing and food, as well as cover any medical expenses should there be an accident on the site."  
  
"We leave tonight?" Brownie asked. "But then-"  
  
"Chocolate and Tiramisu return tomorrow, and Napoleon finishes his work at Bamboo Smoke in a few days. I can manage things here alone for a few hours." Coffee chuckled. "Chocolate will be absolutely livid, being put to work as soon as he walks through the door."  
  
B-52 snorted softly. "I'd love to see his face."  
  
"I'll take a picture for you. Anyway, it'll be good for you two to get out of the restaurant for a while. Now, if you don't have any more questions..."  
  
He gestured with a hand for the two of them to leave.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Coffee. We'll report as soon as we reach the Academy," Brownie said, awkwardly scooting out of the booth, followed by B-52.  
  
"Stay safe out there," their boss called over the tinkling of the bell on top of the door.  
  
Looking back into the booth, Brownie replied, "Always."  
  
\---  
  
The airport in Gloriville's capital city Midgar was uncharacteristically quiet.  
  
Not that that was a bad thing -- far from it. Brownie and B-52 were many things, but _socialite_ would never describe either of them, and what might have been eerie to others was a welcome respite from Midgard's usual hustle and bustle.  
  
Brownie yawned. "Bif, what time is it?"  
  
"10:47."  
  
Stifling another yawn, Brownie rested his head against B-52's shoulder, listening to soft purr of his engine.

  


"We're boarding."  
  
Brownie jolted, unaware he'd ever fallen asleep. He shook his head to clear it before grabbing the case with his gun in it and his suitcase. On the airship, they put their luggage overhead.  
  
"Are we the only ones?" Brownie asked. He hadn't noticed anyone else in their gate.  
  
"M-hm. It's not that surprising. Small ship, and not many people seem to be flying at the moment. Don't forget your seat belt."  
  
"I won't." The belt buckle gave a satisfying _click_ as it was fastened. Returning his head to where it had been in the gate, Brownie started, "Oh, also, I'm sorry for-" then stopped when he both heard and felt the familiar, sleepy rumble, a far-off gentle thunder, coming from B-52's chest. _He's already asleep..._  
  
Brownie quickly found himself following suit, exhaustion taking its hold with little resistance. The safety instructions over the airship's loudspeaker barely registered in his mind, white noise, but the jostling of the ship as its engines fired and lifted it straight up off the dock startled him, and his muddled brain instinctively wrapped his arms around B-52's torso.  
  
He could hear B-52 mumble something, too quiet and slurred by sleep to make out. B-52 made no attempt to remove himself from Brownie, and put his own arms over the other boy.  
  
_Thank God we're the only people on this ship._ If he were as pale as B-52, Brownie's face would have been bright red.  
  
B-52 mumbled again, louder so Brownie could hear: "Go to sleep."  
  
And so he did.  
  
\---  
  
_Whump._  
  
An unseen force rocked the airship, its power tearing its two passengers from sleep.  
  
_Whump._  
  
That sound... It was almost like-  
  
_SKREE!_  
  
Wings. A Fallen Angel was attacking the airship, some distant cousin of Aluna.  
  
"We can't stay here." B-52 leapt to his feet and pulled the trunk with his wings and staff down from above. "Brownie. We're jumping."  
  
Brownie gave one of the windows a sideways glance. "Are you sure you can fly in this weather?"  
  
A ferocious blizzard had started, likely within the last few minutes. The forecast hadn't predicted a storm tonight, and the AI controlling the ship would have landed instead of risking passing through this.  
  
"Come h-"  
  
_THUMP_  
  
The ship lurched violently, nearly knocking both boys to the floor. Brownie could hear metal tearing as the monster outside ripped into the ship's hull.  
  
" _Shit._ " B-52 moved faster, taking less care than usual in attaching his mechanical wings. "Get the door open." Brownie tugged at the emergency release system on the door, heartbeat roaring in his ears.  
  
The door came open, the wind nearly ripping him from where he stood. He could hear the thud of B-52's boots on the metal floor.  
  
"Hold on!" B-52 shouted, struggling to be heard over the roaring gale. Before he could grab Brownie and leap, the monster outside shrieked again.  
  
Brownie shoved B-52 deeper into the ship just as they made contact with the side of a mountain, sending them both to the floor, the vessel sliding several yards before lurching to a halt.  
  
Everything was still. "I think we've stopped." Brownie spoke between heavy breaths.  
  
And then the ship tilted. It flipped over, and continued to roll down the slope. Brownie was just able to reach the edge of a row of seats and pulled himself underneath it, holding on to the bars supporting it. His life would depend on his ability to stay beneath the seats.  
  
He flinched as a trunk slammed into his cover, only about an inch of space between his face and the trunk. The resounding _CLANG_ of metal hitting metal burst forth once, twice, three times.  
  
The ship continued rolling for what was likely only a few minutes, but it felt like hours before the descent down the mountain finally ended. As soon as he was sure it was safe, Brownie pushed the trunk back -- instantly relieved as he realized it was his suitcase, unopened -- and crawled out from where he lay.  
  
_Humans never fail to amaze,_ Brownie thought, surveying the vessel's condition. It was badly dented and considerably smaller and less round inside, but had held up far better than he had thought it would, even though it was definitely never going to fly again. At the very least, it could be a temporary shelter to wait in until help arrived.  
  
"What do you think, B-52?"  
  
There was no reply.  
  
"B?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
_The door was open when we started falling._  
  
"B-52!" Brownie threw himself out of the ship. _He could be anywhere. He could be dead. Please don't be dead._  
  
Something crunched beneath his foot. He saw a glint of bronze in the snow.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
The metal -- it _was_ metal -- was cold in Brownie's hand as he pulled it out.  
  
_Fuckfuckfuck._  
  
A wing, its metal twisted and in some placed broken entirely.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
One of his wings on its own in the snow didn't mean anything. It didn't. Maybe he just hadn't secured it properly and it fell off during the fall, and B-52 was fine and had just left the ship to look for it.  
  
_He would have said something._  
  
_He's somewhere up there._ Brownie looked up the mountain's curved height. _He's up there and I can't reach him. God, he's dead. He's- Fuck._  
  
Something moved off in the distance, just a dark smudge in the whirling snow. It stood, lurched forward, fell. Pushed itself back up, took shaky step after shaky step, shambling on and on, closer and closer, falling and getting back up and-  
Instinct sent Brownie forward, sprinting towards the figure. "B-52!"  
  
The figure moved a bit faster, and now they were close enough Brownie could tell it was B-52 and he was alive and here and-  
  
And blood was running from his right leg, staining the snow a violent red.  
  
"What happened t-"  
  
"I've checked our coordinates," B-52 called across the distance between himself and Brownie, "and we're on the northern side of those mountains. I can't get a message to anybody in Tierra." He finally reached Brownie, collapsing into his arms, breaths heavy and uneven. "We can't... We can't call for help.  
  
"We're on our own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this far!  
> so uuuhhhh this is the first thing i've written in a loooong time but i'm actually pretty happy with it? so far it seems to be going okay i think.  
> i'll try to update consistently but i've never done this whole online fic thing before and as a student my life is chaos so it'll take some time to figure it all out  
> also i kind of write like night vale sO uh sorry? i guess?  
> anyway yeah bye


	2. Chapter 2

External temperature: 20.66°F  
  
Wind speed: 15 MPH.  
  
Wind chill: 6.08°F.  
  
Current time: 4:17 AM.  
  
Estimated sunrise: 9:21 AM.  
  
"I can't get the door shut." Brownie sighed as he sat down on a portion of the airship's seats that hadn't been crushed. He shivered. "The ship isn't keeping us out of the wind. We should start moving soon."  
  
B-52, laying on the floor, didn't respond. He fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. They'd lost their weapons, but their clothes had stayed on board.  
  
Core temperature: 95°F.  
  
They'd need as many layers as they could find.  
  
"How's your leg?"  
  
"... Better. It's not bleeding anymore. I should be able to walk."  
  
B-52 still wasn't sure where the wound had come from. He'd been thrown from the airship, remembered a wing falling into the snow, and then felt something tear into his right calf. Maybe it had been metal, maybe rock, maybe teeth. From what B-52 knew of these mountains, it had probably been teeth, but with his second wing unaccounted for, it just as likely could have been metal. Hopefully it had been metal, or non-venomous teeth.  
  
He'd staggered towards where he thought the ship was, a slash almost an inch deep sending white-hot pain through his leg with each step. _At least I'm alive,_ he had told himself.  
  
Brownie had dragged him inside, and they both searched the wreckage for something to clean up the injury with, eventually prying a first aid kit from an awkwardly twisted wall compartment, and took care of the wound as best as they could, desperately wishing they'd paid more attention to Tiramisu and Milk when the women had tried to teach the rest of the Café's employees how to not die from blood loss.  
  
"Alright, we can fit some food and the first aid kit in this," Brownie said, holding out a backpack he made from one of his shirts.  
  
"How did you do that?"  
  
"Crepe insisted I learn. See if you can find anything we could eat."  
  
B-52 rolled over and pushed himself up, wincing as he put his weight on his injured leg. "I found a box of granola bars." He tossed the box to Brownie. "Although by my calculations, those won't last long enough, even considering we don't require as much food as humans."  
  
"It's better than nothing. Anything else?"  
  
He shook his head. "Are we leaving now?"  
  
"Are you ready?"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"Then yes."  
  
\---  
Current time: 6:43 AM.  
  
Wind speed: 30 MPH.  
  
B-52 and Brownie were now trying their best to stave off death from hypothermia by B-52 using his engine to heat his body. It was effective, but required B-52 to expend a large amount of soul power to produce enough heat. He insisted he was okay, but, coupled with his injury, the process was beginning to take its toll.  
  
"That storm's c- coming back," Brownie pointed out, shaking as the wind buffeted him. "We're almost to the cliff; there's b- bound to be a cave we can hide in."  
  
_WHUMP._  
  
Both boys jumped. _Not now._  
  
They turned their heads, and saw the same Fallen Angel from before, its wings creating the same powerful gale that had brought down their ship just hours ago.  
  
"Run," Brownie said.  
  
B-52 certainly tried, but could only quickly limp a few steps at a time, Brownie helping the best he could.  
  
Once again the bird shrieked, causing the earth to tremble. It caught sight of the two food souls trudging through the snow, banking towards them and providing B-52 with more motivation to overcome his exhaustion.  
  
He forgot everything around him, focusing only on making sure he kept his legs pumping and his left hand around Brownie's right. Adrenaline eased the pain and gave him some energy, but B-52 knew it wouldn't last long, and he'd likely be done for once it wore off. How close were the mountains now? The Angel? _Will there even be any-_  
  
"Right here!" Brownie pulled B-52 to the side, through a small opening and into a cave, farther and farther from the mouth, moments before the Fallen Angel caught up and scrabbled blindly at the rock with its foot, unable to see inside. "It can't get to us."  
  
Breathing heavily, B-52 sank to the ground. "So that thing... is what caused the storm that landed us here..."  
  
The bird shoved its beak into the cave, the rest of its head too large to fit. It shrieked again. Its breath stank of carrion.  
  
Eventually, it pulled out and flew away.  
  
Brownie put his makeshift backpack on the floor and sat down next to B-52. "I wish we had something to burn."  
  
"Mhm. At least the wind... isn't... reaching us here, and it's dry."  
  
Brownie looked at B-52's face. "You look awful. Get some sleep. There's nothing we can do until the storm dies down anyway." He lay down next to B-52, pressed against him to stay warm.  
  
B-52 was going to ask for a painkiller from the first aid kit — as expected, their flight from the Fallen Angel had not improved his leg's condition — but Brownie had already fallen asleep, and in such a position that B-52 could not move to get it himself without waking him.  
  
_We haven't even been awake more than a few hours... But I suppose we've done a lot. Sleep well, Brownie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading~


End file.
